My Independence Day saw no fireworks, though it did end with an explosion of multicolored vomit. I drank too much, too quickly.
My parents returned from Europe with many stories to tell and unfinished business keeping them busy. They gave me Russian stacking dolls, coasters that depict Norsk Gods and Goddesses, a really long hat that also serves as a scarf, and an Estonian Sweater. I think their eyes have been widened.
I already miss having Cleo stay here.
I did some vacation planning on Wednesday with Sammy and Cassie. It went pretty well, though I'm anticipating some clashes while on the road.
Yesterday, I had quite a bit of fun swimming with Frank in Mauthe Lake, despite the hordes of families surrounding us. Frank threw me around in the water, and we took turns floating. Frank put his hands below my back and helped me hover between the warm water and the cool breeze. With eyes closed. The joy of liminality.
Later that night, I was surrounded by West Bend kids and long talks and good times. Then I fell asleep on the couch, only to awake surrounded by 2 adorable pug dogs. I awoke again to find Frank and join him in Heather's bed. We woke up at 5am to go back to Madison. A recipe for somatic disaster--two kids hungover and sleep-deprived.
Then I went to work a slow Sunroom night. There were a lot of old people. Then we finished the night with a table of seven--think the lady in Ghost World who Seymour meets at the bar and calls Blueshammer, "authentic blues" times seven.